


curse me.

by bratmobile



Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hate to Love, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 07:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12030753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratmobile/pseuds/bratmobile
Summary: Love, hate, love.The swing of emotions would pass between the both of you.Snuff me, love me, fuck me, hate me. Repeat.I despise you.I think I might love you.





	curse me.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 am fics are fun but also uh typos so sorry for typos! Thank you for reading!!!

Moans drawn out into the empty space and rotting ceilings. The home that resides on Paper Street seemed like an abandoned hole where junkies would rest their heads at night.  
The walls were chipping at each touch that was engrained onto it. Water would pour down the cracks, trickling and molding the shitty, retired wallpaper.  
Each time you were in this house, you couldn't help but draw out every detail inside of your brain. The right and left side of your mind could barely process if Tyler was hiding out or actually lived here.  
A sharp, harsh thrush would snap you out of your train of thought.  
The last thing you should be thinking about was the small mistakes that this hellhole had.  
You weren't bored of the sex, sometimes each faulty trait would throw you in a circle of thoughts. Yet, the continuous sharp thrusts would continue to smack you out of it.  
Jump back to the spasms circling inside of your pelvic muscle.  
One of Tyler's hands would be around your neck. A sign of dominance, a place of risk, maybe even a threat.  
The other hand would be on your ribcage, his finger burrowing already forming bruises. Soreness would label itself in your skin when his teeth would take its place on your breast.  
A gnash of the teeth, would make you yelp. Out of shock? No.  
Out of fear? No.  
Out of arousal? Well, yes.  
His fingers would leave your ribs, allowing you to take a deep breath without the strict pain against the bones that your lungs hid behind.  
At first, your hands would be gripping on his shoulder. But, with the faster and sloppier thrusts, knowing he was near. Your palms would fall to grip his hips and ass, nails leaving half-moon marks into his tailbone.  
Skin smacking against skin echoed against each crack of the walls. If anyone else was in the house, they'd hear each groan and moan with a slam of the bedframe.  
"Go faster." You'd say.  
"Go harder." You'd add.  
He didn't hold back when you requested sexual favors. Maybe Tyler was surprised you could even muster out a few words. You'd start to lose your voice with the speed his hips would throw against yours. Moans of ecstasy only gave him the stamp of approval with how good he was fucking you.  
Was he fucking you?  
Was he making love to you in the hardest way?  
There'd be a twitch inside of you, warm fluids spilling in you. You wouldn't be surprised, at times he wouldn't bother wearing a condom. In cases like these, you wouldn't cum much. You'd worry about the pregnancy scares you'd embark on in the future.  
Except, something about this turned you on, which led up the spasms slowly making its way from your stomach, to your pelvis, and finally to your legs. Your orgasm felt like a seizure with how hard you came, your hips thrusting forward as he was still inside of you.  
Even when he became soft, he had a more than impressive size.  
You arched upwards, feeling his bandaged fingers place themselves on the lower part of your back.  
He pulled out, and soon his seed followed. Your after-orgasm would be interrupted as his bruised arm would loop behind your back, replacing where his fingers were and with one scoop, you'd be sitting on his lap. You weren't ecstatic about the sudden action, feeling his once-hard cock brush your lips. There'd be an expectation of harshness after sex, he'd soon push you off of him and continue to insult you out of the house. For a moment, there was a lack of ignorance between the two of you.  
Was this just sex?  
Something more?  
Give me more, I want it all. Bruised knuckles, blood stuck in nails, bandaged up hands.  
The late nights.  
The caved in eye sockets.  
The smell of blood and sweat on leather jackets.  
Blood pouring through the cracks in his teeth. A permant fracture. Damaged persona.  
A radicalized version of a man bred from the true "American man", the franchise-creating cheat of a father who forced a boy to turn into a forever self-destructing man child.  
Tyler would lean in, his lips were chapped. The skin icing his cracked lips. You went closer to him, soft and cracked lips crashing together. You can taste the salty and sweetness building up in his mouth. The dabs of blood already swirling across your tongue.  
The way he tasted made you sappy. This cyanide makeout session meant everything one could ever hope.  
Love, hate, love.  
The swing of emotions would pass between the both of you.  
Snuff me, love me, fuck me, hate me. Repeat.  
I despise you.  
I think I might love you.  
Left and right sides of your brain tried to come up with a solution, but you couldn't. Maybe you didn't want to. In this moment you were perfectly okay with what was happening.  
Both of you, still naked, his bruised body beneath you. Your hands would reach up to brush his cheeks, the 5-o'clock shadow feeling like sandpaper to the touch. The rug burn of a feeling turning your chin red.  
The both of you played tongues. Eyes shut tight, darkness overtaking the view you two had of one another. There was that taste of cigarettes, blood, and, alcohol. It was toxic to the taste. A poisoning mixture of cancer flavors. This man was your tumor, a cocaine taste on your gums.  
The kissing came to a halt. You pulled away but you kept your eyes closed. Afraid what you would see once you opened them.  
A flare would replace the open silence. Sizzling then filling in the gaps.  
An inhale.  
Then exhale.  
Cigarettes after sex.  
You'd breathe in the toxins, allowing it to build tar inside of you.  
Eyes would open, meeting quickly with his rose petal iris'.  
Nothing would be said between the two of you, still unclothed, his huff and puff of the cancer between his fingers.  
Neither of you made an effort to talk first. And you didn't mind it.  
You didn't mind it at all.

**Author's Note:**

> You can honestly picture which persona of Tyler you want, this kinda surrounds off the movie bc I like the casting and all so, whichever works! Picture Brad! Picture Edward! Whatever works for ya


End file.
